


blood on my shirt, heart in my hands

by allsassnoclass (brightblackholes)



Series: vampire Michael [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, I guess???, M/M, Neck Kissing, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, tagging this is stressful, vampire!michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightblackholes/pseuds/allsassnoclass
Summary: Michael finally agrees to feed from Ashton.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Series: vampire Michael [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132595
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	blood on my shirt, heart in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my Halloween mashton fic. A few people expressed interest so against my better judgement I tried to write A Vampire Feeding. How successful I was is up to you!

Michael has set himself up in the living room with a video game by the time Ashton wakes up and stumbles out of the bedroom. It’s not too late, but the sun has fully risen, a few beams peaking in the windows around their blinds, paining Ashton in golden light. His hair is messy and he’s rubbing at his eyes, wearing nothing but boxers with a trail of hickies faded against his neck and chest.

Hm. Michael should probably redo those soon.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Michael says, returning his focus to the video game. Ashton flops onto the couch next to him, leaning heavily on his shoulder. Michael immediately begins leaching his warmth, even through the hoodie he’s wearing. Something great about Ashton is that he’s always willing to keep Michael warm.

“Morning,” Ashton says, voice a little gravelly. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” Michael says. “I’ve been out here for a while.”

Ashton hums. Michael turns and presses a kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in.

“Did you eat?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah. Tastes like shit this week, though.”

“Well, you can always take a bite of me if you want,” Ashton says, heaving himself up and stretching. Michael watches him wander to the kitchen.

Ashton has been saying stuff like that for a long time, but Michael still hasn’t taken him up on it. He knows that Ashton wants it, and they’ve had a few more serious discussions about the prospect of Michael feeding from him, but there’s always been something holding him back. It’s not that Michael is scared of hurting him anymore, because they’ve both done a lot of work on getting Michael to trust himself and to trust Ashton to know his own limits, but every time Michael tries to agree he feels a lump in his throat.

The last person he fed from was named Harry. He was human and adamant about not being turned, but Michael didn’t mind. He loved him and was fully prepared to spend the rest of Harry’s time on Earth with him, and he thought Harry was prepared for the same.

Two months after Michael fed from him the first time, Harry disappeared. Michael freaked out thinking something awful had happened, possibly because of him, but when he managed to track down Harry he found him perfectly content with another man. He never tried to reach out again.

He still wonders how Harry explained the two tiny scars on his neck left by Michael’s fangs. His saliva has a healing agent that will help close the wounds, but scars from feeding never fully fade, no matter how old they are. If Michael did the same to Ashton, he’d have that permanently on his body.

Ashton has never given him reason to believe he’ll run away, though. If anything, it’s Ashton who keeps making the first moves towards permanency. He had Michael meet his family. He first brought up the subject of them living together. Michael may be the person who wanted a dog, but Ashton is the one who actually started looking at the ones in nearby shelters, trying to find the one that will suit both of their lifestyles perfectly. He not only has integrated himself into Michael’s life, but has integrated Michael into his.

Ashton knows that the fangs will scar, and he still asks.

“Okay,” Michael says.

“What?” Ashton calls. “Did you say something?” He reappears in the doorway, mug in hand.

“I said okay. If you’re up for it today, I’d… appreciate getting to feed from you.”

The mug slackens in Ashton’s hand. He blinks a few times, chest shuddering on his breaths.

“You really want this, don’t you?” Michael asks. Ashton flushes and nods. Michael smiles and drops his fangs, and Ashton almost drops the mug, fumbling for it right before it crashes to the floor. He barely recovers. Michael can’t stop himself from laughing at him.

“Shut up,” Ashton says, entirely red. “Are we--now?”

“No,” Michael says, retracting his fangs so he can talk normally. “You need to eat first and have some water. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

“Okay, yeah. Are you sure? Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. The word comes out easily, the lump in his throat dissipating with Ashton’s reaction. He’s ready for this.

Ashton crosses the room in a few long strides and kisses him firmly.

“Thank you,” he says, then kisses him again. “Okay. Breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Michael confirms. Ashton beelines back to the kitchen, renewed spring in his step, and Michael scrunches into his sweatshirt a little more, smiling as he presses play on his game again.

-/-

They ultimately decide to do it in the afternoon. Ashton doesn’t eat much for breakfast and Michael needs to be sure that he has enough substance in him not to pass out. Ashton assured him that he typically doesn’t even get woozy when he donates blood, which prompted an entire conversation about whether his blood has any inhuman properties, but Michael stayed firm. Besides, he did feed from the magic store concoction earlier in the day, and while it wasn’t quite as much as usual he would’ve been too full if they tried anything before noon.

By 2:30, the thought of drinking from Ashton is making him salivate.

“Ash,” he says. Ashton must hear something in his voice, or just know him really well, because he immediately turns off the tv and faces Michael expectantly.

“Are you ready?” Michael asks.

“Yes.” Ashton chuckles a bit, just a small huff of a laugh. “I’ve been ready for months.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but do you feel up to it now? You’ve eaten enough and kept hydrated?”

_“Yes,_ Michael. I promise I’m ready.”

Michael nods once. This is happening. Holy shit, this is really happening.

“Sit back and get comfortable,” he commands. Ashton immediately complies, rolling his shoulders out and leaning into the sofa cushion. Michael watches him take a few breaths, relaxing his muscles with every exhale, and when he seems as lax as he’s going to get Michael plops down on his lap.

“Hi,” Ashton says, hands immediately coming to his hips to hold him in place.

“Hi,” Michael says, brushing their noses together. He kisses him long and slow, the type of kiss that implies they have all the time in the world to continue, and Ashton relaxes that last little bit under him. Michael almost wants to keep doing this for the rest of the afternoon, but he has a chance to taste Ashton in another, better way, and that’s what finally makes him lean back and break the kiss. When they part, he runs a hand through Ashton’s hair, then lets his thumb trail down from behind his ear to the base of his throat. Ashton tilts his head, granting him clear access. Michael watches his Adam's apple bob when he swallows.

“So,” Michael says. “This is going to hurt.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Stop being a smartass,” Michael says, smacking his arm lightly. “I’m literally stabbing you in the neck with two sharp points, then draining you of stuff you need to live. We have to talk about this.”

“I know,” Ashton says soothingly, running his hands up and down Michael’s thighs. “Thank you for being so thorough. I’m listening, I promise.”

Michael nods once and tries to steady himself.

“I think we need a safeword. I’m not going to take much, but if it hurts too much or you’re starting to feel faint, I need to know.”

“Okay,” Ashton says. “What about garlic?”

“Garlic is good,” Michael says. “You’re going to remember it?”

“Yep. Besides, nothing will take you out of the blood sucking mood like thinking about garlic.” He has a point. Garlic makes Michael feel sick. He nods.

“You can also pinch my side if you’re too woozy and can’t find words.”

“Like this?” Ashton asks right as Michael feels a sharp pain in his side. He jolts away.

“Ow, yeah. Exactly like that.”

“Okay,” Ashton says. Michael nods again, staring at the part of Ashton’s neck that he’s going to bite into. It’s smooth and tan, right next to a faded bruise low enough to be hidden by the collar of his dress shirts at work. There are a few different arteries and veins there, and he has to be careful to get the right one and close it properly afterwards or Ashton could bleed out. He doesn’t exactly want to test the limits of his immortality.

“Hey,” Ashton says. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods, making himself meet Ashton’s warm hazel eyes again. He’s gazing at Michael steadily, an easy and familiar look on his face that reminds Michael of the centuries they’ve both lived. There’s an understanding with Ashton that he can’t find with many other people, highlighted more the longer they spend together.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Ashton says.

“I know. It’s just… a lot. It’s a big step.”

“I’m honored you want to take it with me,” Ashton says. “I know it means a lot to you.”

Michael nods. They’ve talked about the ritualistic, biological, and traditional significance of a vampire feeding directly from a live person, and Ashton knows it’s a big deal.

“Are you scared?” Ashton asks.

“No.”

“You’ve got your anxiety face on,” Ashton says. He presses his fingers against Michael’s forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles there. Michael rolls his eyes.

“I’m not scared. I’m a little nervous, which is different.”

“What are you nervous about?” Ashton asks, returning his hands to Michael’s hips. It’s one of his favorite places to rest his hands, a grounding weight when Michael is standing in front of him or sitting on his lap or laying next to him in bed.

Michael tries to find a reason and comes up empty. He knows that Ashton is aware of his limits and will tap out if he needs, and he knows that he’s not going to take more blood than Ashton can handle. This is a step he’s prepared to take with Ashton, and more importantly he _wants_ to do it, longs to finally know what Ashton tastes like in this way. Ashton wants it, too. They’ve both communicated clearly about it, and he knows they’re on the same page. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“I think it’s habit now,” he says. “I’ve been so scared to do this for so long, and even though I know it’s going to be great and I want to…”

“I get it,” Ashton says. “What do we need to do to get rid of that?”

“Just fucking do it,” Michael shrugs.

“Sweet. Be my guest.”

Ashton bares his neck again, ready and willing. Michael brings a hand up to brace him on the other side, just so he won’t flinch away involuntarily.

“Keep still,” he says, then drops his fangs. Ashton’s pulse jumps, blood rushing under Michael’s hand.

“Calm down, Ash. It’s okay.”

“I know,” Ashton huffs. “Do it. The anticipation is killing me.”

“Pushy,” Michael mumbles. He leans down, nosing at Ashton’s neck, tracing along the carotid artery. He lets go of the normal restraint on his senses, hearing each thump-thump of Ashton’s heartbeat and his breaths. Dozens of smells fill his nostrils: the blood in Ashton’s veins, the soap from his shower, the fabric softener that makes his t-shirts so soft, and that particular _sweatskinAshton_ smell that makes Michael’s head spin. He brushes his lips against the pulse point, relishing in the way it makes Ashton’s breath catch. The first gentle scrape of fangs makes him shudder beneath him.

Ashton is always so sensitive around his neck. Michael wants to play with this, to see how thoroughly he can undo him before finally taking the bite, how much he needs to tease before Ashton becomes a mess and finally swallows his pride to beg, but he can also smell the blood now and hear it pumping and he needs to _bite._ He has a god at his mercy, willingly submitting to him and offering what he wants, and he’s finally going to take it.

Ashton makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat when the fangs break skin. Michael feels it more than he hears it, a slight reverberation accompanying the blood dribbling from the artery. Michael sucks on the wound, catching as much in his mouth as he can, knowing he should savor it but also needing none of it to go to waste. This is Ashton’s blood: sweet and metallic and warm and alive and so, so precious, tasting like the good kind of late night and laughter and familiar hands resting on his hips. It will not get spilt carelessly.

_“Michael,”_ Ashton whines. He hums, squeezing Ashton’s bicep to let him know he’s present. Ashton repeats his name like a mantra, but he’s not telling him to stop or pinching his side, and it sounds like music this way.

The feeding itself lasts just under a minute, as any longer risks vergining into worrisome territory with the artery he picked. Michael swallows what he can, then licks over the fang marks, picking up more blood and starting to seal them off. In a few seconds, the blood stops flowing, and Michael mouths around the bite to ensure that anything smeared on Ashton’s skin gets consumed.

Ashton adjusts his grip on Michael’s hips, panting. His heart is still beating steadily, rapid and just barely weaker than usual, and Michael presses one last kiss to the bite mark before he leans back to fully assess him. Ashton blinks up at him a few times, shell-shocked and dazed.

“How do you feel?” Michael asks. He cups Ashton’s jaw with both hands, maintaining eye contact.

“You have--you--” He gestures to his lips. Michael wipes his thumb around the corners, sucking the spare blood into his mouth, one last treat from the feeding. Ashton stares at him the entire time.

“Ash,” he says. “You have to tell me how you feel.”

“Fangs,” Ashton says, still staring.

“I’m not going to get them to retract for a few minutes this soon after a live feeding, big guy. How out of it are you?”

“Not too much,” he says. Michael isn’t convinced, but each breath Ashton takes in seems to center him more, kickstarting whatever is leftover from his godly powers to get his mind and body working properly again.

“I’m going to get you some water and a snack. Stay here, okay?”

“Where would I go?”

Michael ignores him in favor of planting a kiss on his forehead, then heads to the kitchen. When he returns Ashton is still boneless against the sofa, lolling his head to the side to watch him approach.

“I’m still not dizzy,” he says after he sips some water and takes a bite of the granola bar under Michael’s watchful eye. “I’m a deity. It takes more than that to affect me.”

“You lost a lot of blood in a short amount of time. I’m not taking any chances.”

Ashton gives him an unimpressed look, but takes another bite of his granola bar anyway.

“How was it?” he asks, faux-casual.

“Amazing,” Michael breathes, leaning back against the cushions with the taste still on his tongue. It’s something he won’t be forgetting within the next millennium. “You taste so good, Ash, like… I don’t know how to describe it, except that it was both exactly what I thought and completely unexpected at the same time. I knew it would be good, but fuck, I never imagined it could be like that.”

Ashton’s lips quirk up, and when he offers his hand Michael threads their fingers together. Ashton brings his hand to his lips and kisses the back of it.

“You know, in my religion the act of eating was considered extremely important. Our followers would often eat lavishly as the most important part of worship, believing it opened them further to our blessings and favor.”

“Did it?” Michael asks. Ashton nods.

“There’s nothing more intimate than eating with someone, I think. To be the source of food is even more so, whether you make the meal or… contribute in other ways.”

“More intimate than sex, even?”

Ashton smiles, then nods.

“Yeah, more intimate than sex.”

Michael leans forward, figuring that Ashton has recovered enough to be on the receiving end of another long, slow kiss. When they part, Michael finally feels fully centered again and his fangs retract easily.

“I can’t feed from you again for a while, like eight weeks or something. We need to give you time to fully recover.”

“I know,” Ashton says, pulling him closer. Michael settles against his side, leaning down to plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this,” Ashton says, “and for taking care of me, even if I don’t need it.”

“Well, I do want to keep you around,” Michael says. “You’re my live blood supply now.”

“And I will be as long as you want me.”

“Forever, then.”

“Forever.”

Michael smiles and buries his face in Ashton’s shoulder. When he glances up, he can see the scars from his fangs clear as day, angry and red. He used to think vampire bites looked like awful, ugly things, but this one isn’t. This one looks more like a promise, one that Michael knows they both intend to keep for the rest of eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [allsassnoclass!](http://allsassnoclass.tumblr.com)


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